


kill (me) for some peace of mind

by paintedpolarbear



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Episode: c01e024 The Feast, F/M, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 15:08:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17603645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/paintedpolarbear/pseuds/paintedpolarbear
Summary: In the hours left before the great feast welcoming the Briarwoods to Emon, Percy is restless.





	kill (me) for some peace of mind

**Author's Note:**

> i've been waiting on the day all night // would it kill you for some peace of mind? // would you take me and not look back? // good gracious, you're a heart attack   
> \- wild rivers, heart attack

Percy was tired.

He would have described himself as _done_ , actually, if he'd been in the mood for self-reflection at the moment. So many harrowing adventures had demanded his attention lately. K'varn. The Fire Ashari. The Slayer's Take and that _damned_ ice cave where he'd nearly died at the hands of _another_ twice-damned white dragon. And now this nonsense with the emperor getting all cozy with the Briarwoods, who had all but killed Percy once and would certainly do so again given a quarter of a chance.

Not to put too fine a point on it, but Percy was getting rather exhausted with all these near-death experiences.

He sighed heavily and yanked at his goggles with his free hand, leaving what felt like the worst possible combination of grease and gunpowder in a visible smear across his forehead. His weapons were functional, all the moving parts were clean and oiled, a fresh batch of bullets lay cooling in the sand bucket and Diplomacy was as finished as it could possibly be. So with bare hours left until the supposed arrival of Tal'Dorei's most anticipated Honored Guests, Percy decided he'd had enough of the workshop for the night.

The moment he stepped into the hallway he regretted it. After the near-Elemental heat produced by the furnace, the dark, drafty halls and stairwells of Greyskull Keep were frigid and remaining in them was bordering on masochism. He clutched his jacket tighter and headed for the tower stairs, fighting the urge to break into a run. The terror that dogged his steps was old and familiar, and it would keep for another few hours.

"Oh, _fuck_. Fuck, God in heaven. Shit. Oy! Is that someone in the hall? Oh, help me, please."

He paused outside the open door. Behind a pile of fabrics in every imaginable shape, color, texture, and cut—clothing that had been selected, tried, and discarded—Vex sat at a low table with a mirror hung on the wall, bent nearly in half and cursing colorfully at an indistinguishable point on the floor. Her hair was a mess of pins and what looked like black thread woven in and out of coiling braids knotted around her head.

"Oh!" she said, noticing his intrusion and greeting him with a bright, pained smile. "Would you come do up the back, _dahling_? I can't quite reach."

"What on God's green earth is this?" he asked pleasantly.

The dress was a crystal blue number that Vex had apparently gotten some time ago, and the cost had been very dear to her: the material was very fine, snug here, flowing here, with a leather piece up the back that at second glance could have been the perfect place to hide a narrow sword—and on third glance Percy did notice the ornate hilt nestled between her shoulders, the finery of it making it almost invisible.

Vex contorted her arms a bit further, fingers uselessly clutching at the fabric, and now Percy could see the issue—three tiny copper clasps at the small of her back, open and dangling like teeth just out of her reach.

The room was not cold, thanks to the fireplace, but Percy felt an inexplicable flush of warmth.

"You see it?" Vex was clearly trying to pull the dress closed by force of will alone, the muscles in her arms straining hard enough to start bursting seams. "This is why I hate dresses, can't wear 'em without six maids and a milk cow helping you into it, this had better be the last formal thing we ever have to attend...."

"All right, all right, let me help."

He knelt right there in the doorway trying to get better light, trying to see how the closures fit together, for a moment just looking. Just staring.

“Hell- _o_ -o, is Percy home? He said he would help me but I’ve been sitting here for ten years and I’ve crumbled to dust. I can’t feel my toes. I’m dying. Percy, I’m dying.”

“Sorry, sorry. Hands are dirty.” They were. They were also shaking very badly. He wiped the sweat and grime off onto his trousers and did up the first clasp.

It was a fiddly thing and it took more than a few moments to get it closed. In those moments, Percy had to wonder how it was that such a simple hook-and-eye construction could stymie him so. It was his job to work with little befuddling things, even when his nerves were evidently shot through. He hoped there would be plenty of alcohol at this feast.

“Are you quite alright, dear? Your hands are shaking.”

“I’ve been better.”

He did up the other two closures, making a point of not deliberately brushing his knuckles against her skin. It was prickled with gooseflesh despite the fire roaring in the hearth. He _desperately_ wished for an abundance of wine.

“There we are,” said Percy. Vex straightened up and stretched with an audible cracking noise as seemingly every bone in her body realigned to a more appropriate posture.

“Much better,” she gushed, twisting this way and that to test the integrity of the closures, which held. “Thank you ever so much, _dahling_ , and I have time to finish my hair after all. Although, what do you think I should do about—?” and she gestured vaguely to the pit of her upraised arm.

“I haven't the faintest,” said Percy, and he really did know absolutely nothing of the whims of fashion. Whether it was the latest craze for women to pluck their underarms, or shave them, or whatever, was almost certainly irrelevant. “Leave it be, I suppose.” She grinned.

“The fashion-forward far-travelers of Vox Machina,” said Vex, musing to herself. She glanced over at the sunlight pouring through the window and added: “I suppose I'd better. There's no time, now.”

With the feast slated for sunset, they had half an hour at most to finish up and get down to the palace. If, that is, they didn't all end up racing there at the last possible minute—or, God forbid, late—which would be _just_ like them.

Percy sighed. “I'd better get ready as well. Vax might slit my throat if I don’t make a good impression.”

He’d meant it to be funny, but she just looked pained.

“Percy, dear?”

He paused, fingers white-knuckled on the door jamb, heart thudding.

Vex sucked in a deep breath. Her hands looked uncertain of what they should be doing. “We’re all with you,” she started, almost tripping over it. Percy had never known her to stumble over words. “We’re your family, and we—we love you. All of us. So the moment those bastards need to die, they’ll be dead, just say the word.”

He nodded. “Of course.”

“And _dahling_?” She put on a smile that was less dazzling than radiant: warm, soft, and intimate. “Try not to get yourself killed too badly.”

For the first time all week, he felt as though an immeasurable weight had been taken off his shoulders. “I’ll do my best.”

**Author's Note:**

> here's to my first published work of 2019 being in a brand new fandom and i haven't even seen past this actual episode
> 
> thanks to my lovely beta @vanishedschism who helped me comb out the snarls and made a great point about passive voice


End file.
